


And Where Will You Find Peace

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: 5 Sentence Fiction, Blood, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Fuuma/Kamui drabbles collected from a five sentence fic challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Where Will You Find Peace

**Author's Note:**

> These have since been edited from the original posts of five sentence fic challenges, and as such some of them are more than five sentences now. For each one, I've listed the three prompts I received for each drabble. 
> 
> Also, minor note that some of these involve character death and a whooooole lot of them involve blood and vampire shenanigans.

**Guns / Blood / Death**

 

It is in a decisive moment that Fuuma falls to his knees, hand grasping to stop the flow of blood but unable, feeling it spill over his hand and onto the ground, his gun falling from his grasp.  He chokes out, immediately regrets it and tries to cover it with a smile, which quickly ripples away with a soft, yet violent cough.  Kamui is there in a flash, his eyes burning bright gold, watching the blood fall from him.  His expression twists into one of pain, as if he was the one bleeding instead, as if he was the one weighed down with his own mortality. 

 

“Oops,” is all Fuuma manages and Kamui furiously shakes his head, unable to respond, unable to speak, unable to think of a single thing to do.  He clutches at Fuuma desperately, and Fuuma slumps against him, his eyes closing as he finds a safe spot against Kamui’s shoulder, breathing shallow against the curve of Kamui’s neck – and it’s only once that breathing stops that Kamui remembers he should have used his own blood to stop it all, and lost that chance. 

 

He bites his wrist open, tries desperately to coax an unresponsive Fuuma to drink – and knows it’s already too late.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Blood/ Wings / Kiss**

 

Tokyo nights are acidic and uncomfortably warm, and it’s when the sky threatens stars that Kamui knows he’s leaving with Subaru as quickly as they can – they’ve already lingered too long in this world. 

 

He can feel Fuuma’s eyes on him and it’s almost as suffocating as the thick air.  He turns to him, eyes flashing with a cold fire while Fuuma’s only response is to smile, a burning chill that doesn’t sit well with him.  

 

Kamui strides towards him in the half-darkness, eyes on his and never wavering.  Kamui curls his fingers hard into Fuuma’s hair and tugs him down, teeth digging into his lip until there’s blood blooms across his tongue and he drinks far longer than necessary, kissing him even when he feels the feather-light wings of the magic trying to pull him and his brother away.  His fingers are slow to uncurl – and the taste of Fuuma’s blood lingers for weeks afterward.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Bite / Butterfly / Star**

 

Fuuma returns to Yuuko’s service exactly eight minutes after he watches Kamui and Subaru leave Tokyo.   The departure had been rather subdued, but only because exactly seven minutes before the two were set to leave, Kamui pulled away from Subaru and then pulled Fuuma behind a pillar, stared at him for a long moment, and then leaned in and bit down hard on his neck.

 

(Fuuma had sucked in a sharp breath, shocked at the touch, hard and painful enough that he momentarily saw stars as all the blood rushed to his head and then promptly downward again.)

 

Fuuma touches absently at his neck now, where there are two little puncture wounds at the spot of his neck where it slopes away into shoulder.  He presses his fingers down hard against it, flinching when his body responds in turn, bruising – he doesn’t want it to disappear.  When he looks at Yuuko, draped in her kimono decorated with butterflies, her hand resting against her cheek in an all-knowing fashion, Fuuma has to look away and force himself to smile.

 

At least he has something to hold onto now.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Possessiveness / Glasses / Sand**

 

In the midst of fighting, it was inevitable that Fuuma would be called away – darting away as a crossbow bolt glances off the hard stone beneath his feet (dangerously close to his feet) – and he focuses on fighting one of Kamui’s men (Nataku he thinks his name is, but he isn’t sure, either).  He’s used to fighting one-on-one, and he’s certainly used to fighting someone far more skilled and quick than Nataku, so it’s hardly a challenge—

 

And then he’s face down in the sand, a low growl curling to his ears as a heavy boot presses down into his back – he chuckles and rolls out from underneath his favorite fight, smiling up at him, coughing up sand and lifting one eyebrow as Kamui regards him over the edge of his crossbow.

 

“Can’t stand to share me, Kamui?” he asks with a smile.

 

Kamui says nothing, just leans down, grabs him by the front of his shirt with one hand and reaches with the other, snapping his glasses in half. 

 

“Shut your mouth and fight me.”

 

 

\---

 

 

**Dominance / Fang / Sunrise**

 

Kamui shoves him down and pins him there.  Fuuma doesn’t try to stop him, blinking up at him in surprise as Kamui arches over him, eyes bleeding into gold like a distant sunrise, his lips quirking for just a moment, long enough to see one fang before it dissolves into a contemplative smirk.  Fuuma says nothing as he lets Kamui’s fingers brush down the front of Fuuma’s shirt, pushing his jacket back with decisive confidence and when Fuuma tries to lift his hands to touch him in turn, Kamui makes a soft sound and pins his hands back down again.

 

“No,” is all he says and that’s enough for Fuuma.  And then Kamui ducks his head against his neck and sinks his teeth in.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Marbles / Subaru / Cracked**

 

Fuuma brings his possessions with him as well, despite knowing he won’t last long at the government building.  He moves with his territory, helps with the settling in process, the strange and unnatural integration between places that once did nothing but war against each other – but now there’s enough water to go around. 

 

Fuuma can fit his entire life into one knapsack, and that’s good enough for him – the necessity of moving between words made traveling light the most ideal, but, in reality, he possesses more than the vampire twins, who own nothing beyond the clothes they wear and a few tokens stored away in pockets. 

 

Still, he can’t help but smile as he unpacks briefly and repacks again for his long journey – he unpacks mostly for the sake of piquing curiosity, perhaps: old photos from a bygone era, frayed and faded playing cards missing more than a few of the fifty-two, stray bullets that don’t fit the gun at his hip, astronaut ice cream which he knows completely mystifies the twins, a long serrated knife in its sheath which makes Kamui’s eyes narrow marginally, matches, flint, dirt-smeared and useless bandages and first aid kit, and his personal favorite, the small tin that clinks and rolls as he picks it up, filled with marbles. 

 

The look Kamui gives him is withering, but Subaru looks on with polite but detached curiosity.  It was a childhood possession, and perhaps it’s sentimental of him to hold onto it, even now, when he could use the tin for more important things.  Fuuma is not sentimental, but all the same, he keeps them, cracked and faded as they may be. 

 

Fuuma smiles and holds the marble up to the light, a catseye design of blue bleeding into gold; he smiles low in the light and says, “It was always my favorite.”

 

 

\---

 

 

**Sizekink / Teasing / Shove**

 

“Is it too much?” Fuuma whispers against his mouth, light and teasing and far too smug, as Kamui’s shoved up against the wall, legs curling around his waist and holding fast, hips rolling up to meet his.  Kamui groans and breathes out a soft curse of Fuuma’s name before he sinks his teeth down into Fuuma’s lip and rolls his hips up against him, delighting in Fuuma’s quiet gasp. 

 

There’s a kind of thrill to being held like this, Fuuma so much larger than him, pressing in against him, hands fisting at clothes or hair or anything they can reach – and yet how easily he could break Fuuma in turn, knows the other doesn’t for a moment mistake the strength hiding in a deceptively small body. 

 

Still, Fuuma teases him, laughing through the kiss and blood, “You’re a slip of a thing, really.”

 

Kamui growls into the kiss, drops a hand down to curl around Fuuma and stroke, and it’s his turn to be smug when Fuuma moans low into his kiss – Kamui keeps kissing him, keeps touching him, almost smirking, but the command clear: shut the hell up.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Reunion / Happy / Awkward**

 

Their eyes met across the room – and it was as if there was no one else there.  Fuuma had spent his entire life schooling his expressions, never betraying a single thing about himself, never once letting it bother him how expressive he could be, if only he let himself: but as soon as he saw Kamui, he smiled – bright, unrestrained, and completely and truly genuine.

 

Kamui averted his eyes, not from embarrassment or disgust, just a general kind of uncertainty that made his shoulders tense up.  But Fuuma didn’t care.

 

He was already crossing the room, paying no attention to all the people who were infinitely less important than the one he was reaching out for – who was there to meet him with only the softest mutter of _what took you so long?_

\---

 

 

**Waiting / Fires / Paradise**

 

There’s a secret thrill he feels knowing that Kamui is waiting for him, that as soon as he senses him, as soon as he appears over the horizon, he’s there waiting for him, his eyes ablaze. 

 

Kamui will drop everything and go to meet him, his words clipped and precise, his fighting style even moreso.  It’s what Fuuma lives for, it’s what Fuuma longs for – it’s what he wakes up for, what he goes to sleep thinking about.  Kamui, only Kamui: strong, beautiful, powerful Kamui, who blazes to life at the sight of him, whose eyes hide that darkened sadness and moves like liquid motion, and Fuuma longs for each moment when he can reach out and grasp his wrist in his hand, marvel at how deceptively delicate each little bone feels. 

 

This wasteland is the closest he’s ever felt to elation, the closest he’ll ever be to paradise. 

 

 

\---

 

 

**Biting / Pulling / Breathing**

 

The bite against his neck firestarts his chest and he breathes out sharply, closing his eyes as he feels the pull of Kamui’s teeth, the swipe of his tongue against the line of his neck, piercing the skin away from the main artery (“you’d bleed out,” he whispers hot against Fuuma’s neck, seeming all breath and heat and nothing else but a wisp in the back of Fuuma’s mind). 

 

He drinks without hurry, slow burning and careful, his lips pillowing over the twin bites.  His hands lift and his fingers curl around his shoulders, holding him close, and Fuuma reminds himself to breathe, his heart thundering, giving him more blood.  His fingers curl into Kamui’s hair, keep him close, tilting his head so that his lips press against Kamui’s ear, lets him feel the slow curve of his smile as he whispers his name, a hushed promise.  All of it his.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Travel / Water / Abyssopelagic**

 

It’s a constant now, whenever he travels through the worlds and there is water – the years of waiting by the water’s edge has caused him certain calm, despite it all, despite that lingering sadness that waiting always causes him. 

 

Subaru tries to understand, is sympathetic in his own unrelenting way, but it is not the same: the more they travel, the more things seem the same, the more and more aware he is of the ever-growing distance between one space and a space that remains constant in the past. 

 

And the more he falls away from that, the deeper he travels… the more the water calls to him: to rest, to flow, to shape and change and become that which he fears.  The more he stays this way, the more he moves and fights and flees, the more he remembers the person who met him head-on, the crushing force with which the water hits the dam, or the water struggles to fight through the seastacks on the water’s edge, years and years of erosion wearing it away until it conforms to the force of that water, bows and arches against that unrelenting force.

 

 _As if I would ever want to relent,_ is the answering thought he has in his mind, accompanied by that slow, steady smile, that slight touch of a thumb pressing against the flat of his palm – as if he belonged there, as if he were eroding him away piece by unrelenting piece. 

 

 

\---

 

 

**Size / Adumbrate / Pout**

 

Fuuma is across the way from him, leaning against one of the stone pillars, and when their eyes catch, Fuuma smiles at him.  Which only makes Kamui frown, his eyes narrowing suspiciously (trained, always, to never trust that smile) – and he should have known from the beginning that there was something off about this man, should have known from the beginning whose brother he was.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t see those warnings, it isn’t as if it’s obvious now in hindsight.

 

Or, perhaps, he isn’t as similar as he’s telling himself – the way that Fuuma’s smile curls across his face is almost genuine, almost gentle – and that only makes Kamui all the more suspicious, because what right did a man like that have to be genuine or gentle? 

 

“You’re pouting,” Fuuma says pleasantly as Kamui makes his way over to him, glaring up at him (that man had no right to be so tall, either), and Fuuma tilts his head a bit, amused, “Or is it a scowl?”

 

“I don’t pout,” Kamui says, his eyes still narrowed as he observes Fuuma’s expression, trying to gauge him, trying to determine how much of a threat he is – and hates himself for being fooled by him, for being caught off guard, for, half a moment, thinking that maybe he felt—

 

“A scowl, then,” Fuuma interrupts the thought quietly, his expression softening for half a second in a way that catches Kamui completely off-guard ( _Again_ , damn it), and he watches Kamui with that expression that, for the life of him, Kamui simply cannot place. 

 

 

\---

 

 

**Affinity / Quiet / Dear**

 

He spent far too much time assuming it was a passing fancy, just a way to pass the days – months – years waiting for something to happen.

 

He told himself that it was simply because Kamui is entertaining, that Kamui is interesting, captivating, and all-encompassing simply because he is entertaining.

 

The moment Fuuma realizes he’s in love with Kamui is deceptively simple: Kamui sneezes. 

 

Fuuma looks at him in alarm, mostly out of surprise, because the sound is quiet enough but loud in its strangeness: he’s never heard Kamui sneeze before and before he can stop it, a little laugh escapes him before he can stop it, “I didn’t know that vampires could sneeze.”

 

Kamui gives him a look that clearly demonstrates that he thinks Fuuma is an idiot – and it’s that familiar look that just makes Fuuma smile more, and it’s another strange epiphany to realize that he is looking at Kamui with such unrelenting fondness that it’s a miracle that Kamui hasn’t yet noticed it.

 

But that sneeze is the beginning of the end for Fuuma. 

 

That simple sneeze pulled Kamui away from the unobtainable and made him, deceptively normal in his extraordinary circumstances: it made him at once infinitely dear and reachable as it made Fuuma only realize just how far he himself had fallen.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Apodyopsis / Charisma / Smirk**

 

He can hear his heart beating, hear the pace of his blood – and to anyone else, perhaps, that would be a disturbing concept but for Kamui it is the act of hunger, the sound of desire.  And when he flickers his eyes up to meet Fuuma’s, Fuuma is smiling at him in that hidden, secret way of his – and Kamui thinks he understands better than most humans would – and that is both thrilling and terrifying. 

 

When they fight, Fuuma’s heart rate increases. And Kamui imagines drinking that blood still hot and flowing from their fights.  He imagines peeling away each layer of his clothes until he is bare and exposed and on his knees, looking up at Kamui with that dark, open longing that Kamui has never truly experienced.  The only hints come in the moments when a hand curls around his wrist, when Fuuma whispers against the shell of his ear, hot breath and smirking lips brushing against that sensitive skin. 

 

He imagines stripping him down, imagines what he would look like, imagines what his heart would sound like as Kamui arches over him, or presses him up against a slab of rock, or leaves him, aching and begging, until he has had his fill – until he has drained him dry. 

 

Today, the words that brush against his ear are, “You’re distracted.”

 

And Kamui knows he is.  His eyes close, his body moves through the practiced ease of fighting with this man – fighting without true intent, movement for the sake of movement, listening to that heartbeat, beating consistently and tirelessly beneath that fabric.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Biting / Stay / Sweet**

 

“So where will you go next?” Fuuma asks and the question itself is deceptively light and innocent, but it bites down into Kamui anyway and refuses to let go.

 

He glares up at him, his eyes narrowed.  But his words lack the proper bite, he realizes: instead it falls back into that kind of expectancy they’ve played at for years now (as if that would change), “I don’t see how that’s relevant for _you_ to know, considering.”

 

“Ah,” is all Fuuma says, that smile still touching his lips, and then after a moment, his eyes flicker down – a strange, subtle sign of defeat, of acceptance, of resignation. 

 

But Kamui doesn’t have time to examine the expression and reaction, no matter how incongruous it seems with the rest of Fuuma’s character, because in that moment, his brother captures his attention and they are surrounded by the people of the tower and the government building, still working out the logistics even after those other travelers had already moved on.

 

When Kamui turns his head to look at Fuuma again, Fuuma is already gone.

 

They didn’t even say goodbye. 

 

 

\---

 

 

**Sizekink / Storm / Desperate**

 

There’s a storm brewing in Kamui’s eyes.  There’s that strange, captivating mix of blue and gold as he stares at Fuuma and Fuuma doesn’t respond, doesn’t react when Kamui shoves him up against the wall, presses his body up against Fuuma so that every inch is touching. 

 

Fuuma opens his mouth for that question but those eyes capture his, swirling with those colors, captivating – almost desperate when Kamui leans up and kisses him, a soft sound of frustration at the stretch, and Fuuma curls his hands around his hips and lifts him a bit to make that easier.  He doesn’t protest when Kamui’s nails cling to his clothes and move down, slicing through it easily and he arches up into the touch.  Kamui shies away from cutting his skin but Fuuma craves it, and he bites down hard on Kamui’s lip as he kisses him, his own level of desperation in that possession – and he’s rewarded with that soft sound from Kamui. 

 

And just as he’s about to start to beg, Kamui pushes him away and the space between them is too large, too far, and when Fuuma reaches out to take him back, Kamui shakes his head, his eyes completely golden now. 

 

“I can’t promise anything,” he says, his words sharp in comparison to the almost apologetic expression on his face.

 

And Fuuma shrugs and drags him close to him again, turning so he’s pinning him up against the wall, Kamui’s legs curling around his hips as he whispers out, softly, “I don’t care about promises.”

 

 

\---

 

 

**Ribbon / Pillow / Silk**

 

The ribbon, soft yet taut, covers his eyes so he can’t see Kamui’s expression but he can feel that smile against the spot just below his ear, the smallest curve of a warm mouth as Kamui pushes him back down onto the bed. 

 

He can imagine that Kamui is smiling at him, imagine that warm expression, imagine the way he arches up over him – and he swallows thickly, longing to touch him – but Kamui’s tied him up there, too.  If he truly wanted, he could easily break free from the soft silk that binds him down.

 

But he doesn’t want it.   There’s something thrilling about being at his mercy, completely and unrelenting – to have Kamui be in complete control of him, to surrender completely.

 

That smile drifts down over his neck and Fuuma breathes out when one sharp fang brushes over the main artery in his neck – how easy it’d be to slice that and let him bleed out.  They both know Kamui won’t do that, but he does bite down sharply at Fuuma’s adam’s apple in a way that makes him lose his breath as Kamui whispers, hot and broken against his throat, “You’re _mine_.”

 

 

\---

 

 

**Biting / Stone / Crepuscule**

 

It’s impossible to say who reaches out first, but they are no more than a moment away from one another in the partial darkness, the morning of their departure.  It’s the work of a split second to close the distance between them, and their mouths collide violently in a kiss that is more about need than passion, a desperate bid for the other to stay, a desperate wish to remember this. There is no considerate moment of pause, no gentleness, nothing – just a raw collision of possessiveness and yearning and confusion that presses them together.

 

When Kamui’s hands fist in Fuuma’s jacket and he slams them into the stone so that it cracks beneath the force, so that he can press every inch of his body against him – so that he can feel the sinewy lines of flesh and muscle beneath the heavy, rich fabric.  Feel all of him –

 

He knows that it’s fleeting, temporary.

 

That there’s an end even in the beginning and that Fuuma’s hands grip him so tightly and so possessively _because_ they will release him – he knows this even before Fuuma breaks the kiss and digs his fingernails into his back through the fabric of his shirt, hard enough to bruise.

 

Kamui decides he doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear whatever it is that Fuuma is going to say – so he kisses him again, hard and biting, to silence anything this man could have to say – he doesn’t want to hear it, any of it.

 

 

\---

 

 

**Linger / Weakness/ Love**

 

In the waning days, in those brief moments when they could meet across worlds, there was that pervasive misery which Fuuma had never known before – had always spent so much time, so much energy making sure that he was never compromised like this, that he was never at someone else’s mercy.

 

But loving Kamui was about as vulnerable as it could be, about as impossible and pathetic as it could get.  He traveled through the worlds, as he was meant to, and the taste of Kamui lingered in his mouth, the scent lingered on his clothes, and everything boiled down deep below the surface of his skin, just waiting to erupt, always there, prickling at the back of his neck and throat, leaving him in a constant state of hollowed out misery.

 

Love is one thing, it turns out – it can be smothered, it can be ignored, it can be fostered deep down in the darkest corners of his heart, and left there as a background ache.

 

But _requited_ love is another thing entirely: once discovered, once understood, it is a black hole that churns at his center, pulls him inward piece by piece in order to destroy.

 

Because to turn away from that love is enough to get lost inside himself, enough of an unnatural reaction that for days afterwards he can still remember the bewildered hurt in Kamui’s eyes, of the only person to _ever_ make him care, of the only person he’s ever longed to see again, the only person he would ever want to protect.  The only person to ever make him feel so weak.

 

And in every single world where they happen to meet, Kamui’s eyes find him and Fuuma sees that question there and he has to turn away because that glare of sharp, burning sadness is too much – and he’s long since learned that time and distance don’t do anything at all.


End file.
